


Of Romantics and Romance

by AvatarMi_Chan



Series: I Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly to be Fearful of the Night [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Coffee Shop, Human!Bill, M/M, Older!Dipper, and dipper has glasses, fluff&stuff, just cuteness, mabel makes dipper read trashy romance novels, seriously, this is just seven pages of light romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:34:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6222031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvatarMi_Chan/pseuds/AvatarMi_Chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill sees a cute boy reading in a cafe and ends up sitting across from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Romantics and Romance

suppose what I should say was that on the day Bill met him, his whole world changed.

But it didn’t.

And if you hear someone claim that a single person changed their perspective through a single event, well, then they are just feeding you bullshit.

The reality of it is, when Bill Cipher first saw lay his eyes on Dipper Pines, nothing really changed. He thought:

Nice legs.

And they were. The other man had an equally nice body and a pretty decent face to boot. The type of guy who was attractive in a small, approachable way.

And so approach him Bill did, cup of coffee in hand, a thousand ways to introduce himself zipping through his mind one after another.

“Hey, is it alright if I sit here?” He asked lazily, shooting the other man one of his signature smiles. The chestnut haired boy looked up from his book, his glasses sliding down his nose slightly. Hazel eyes, Bill noticed, cinnamon at the center before fading to a jade green.

“Sure, feel free.” He replied before going back to reading.

Pulling out the chair, Bill sat, sipping silently at his coffee, occasionally giving the other figure a wayward glance. Upon further inspection, he had a soft look to his face, not gentle, but the look of someone who smiled too easily. A pretty look if you asked Bill.

They continued like that for some time. And then, after a while, the boy folded in the corner of the page he was reading before closing his book. Without another word, he stood up and left.

Bill stayed there a little while longer, finishing his own drink, before leaving as well.

And I know what you’re probably thinking: this isn’t how a relationship should start. They have to look one another in the eyes and connect in that special way that people do. Sparks should fly, hearts should beat.

But Bill had never really felt anything like that. Especially with him. The brown haired boy had nice legs. And those legs walked him right out of the café and out of Bill’s life. That was that.

Until the next Wednesday of course, when Bill was walking past that same café on his way back to his apartment when low and behold- there the brunette was sitting at that same table in the corner.

And so in Bill went.

“One Americano with room for cream.” He glanced over at him, noting that the man had a taste for t-shirts and flannel. Bill wrinkled his nose at the lack of fashion sense, but the moment the figure leaned forward, propping up a single pale cheek with a low chuckle, his doubts dissipated.

Cute.

“That’ll be $3.65.”

You know how some people are smart? Like, real book savvy? They can quote from Shakespeare and they pride themselves on reciting illogical nonsense from obscure novels you only hear about in literary magazines or from those dark corners of bookstores where no one dares to tread? You know the type. Well, thankfully Dipper Pines wasn’t one of those.

“Hey, is it all right if I sit here?” Bill asked. The boy glanced up. This time, he pushed his glasses up before they had an opportunity to slip.

“Sure, feel free.” He said before going back to reading. ‘The Lumberjack Bride’ was sprawled across the front in loopy font. And as for the cover image, a Fabio rip off with a shirt unbuttoned to his navel and a head of hair that would make the members Kiss green with jealousy.

“Fan of Romance?” Bill asked leisurely. The other didn’t look up.

“No, not really. My sister is though. Always makes me read these silly things. Though I am a bit of a romantic. Swordfights. Grand adventures. Knights in shining armor…”He trailed, eyes flickering upward.

“Not so much a fan of knights. More a half-naked damsel in distress type of guy myself.” Bill chortled, raising a single golden eyebrow.

The other man shrugged. “We all have our own preferences.” He went back to reading. Bill pulled out his phone, pretending not to stare. Ten minutes later the brunette was walking out the door.

He had a nice view from the rear as well. Bill smiled, taking another drink.

“Afternoon, Pine tree.”

Another Wednesday, another trip to the café. But this time Bill was prepared. This time, Bill had made a decision.

A pair of amber eyes flickered upwards, brows furrowing at the odd nickname.

“Are you talking to me?” He asked, and Bill couldn’t help but note how his ears reddened beneath those sloppy brown curls.

“Mhmm.” He hummed, taking a seat across from the brunette and propping his chin up with his hand.

“Where on earth did you come up with that?” The other man scoffed, running a finger through his unruly locks when he noticed the blonde staring.

“What was it you were reading last time? Something to do with Lumberjacks, if I remember correctly. Lumberjacks, Pine trees…” He tilted his head from side to side as he spoke, smiling as the other man’s gaze grew more confused as he continued.

“That… is one of the most absurd and farfetched nicknames I have ever heard.”

“You flatter me.” Bill chuckled, taking a drink.

“Dipper.” The brunette spoke softly.

“Hmm?” Bill’s heart quickened as the other gnawed at his lower lip, reaching to fiddle with his glasses – moving the earpiece so that they bounced atop his nose.

“My name. It’s Dipper. Dipper Pines.” He said, more loudly this time, before turning back to his book. Bill leaned back in his seat, turning towards the window.

“Whatever you say, Pine tree.”

*************

“I hate it when people say there is nothing original.” The boy stated, fingering the cover of his latest paperback: ‘The Shirtless Earl and I’. Bill really wondered who came up with the names for those things.

“That’s because there isn’t. Have you seen what Hollywood has been producing these days?” Bill shrugged, rolling his eyes. The brunette frowned.

“We’re talking about novels here. Stories. Try to stay on topic.”

“Alright, alright. Nothing original. Understood. And why do you think that?” It was raining outside. It always got like this towards the middle of the summer. Every afternoon there was nothing but rain, rain, rain. Grey as far as the eye can see. It made this small, warm place seem all the more inviting. How long had Bill been coming here? It must have been nearly a month now.

“Because every story is unique. Even if it’s something that’s been used before, if told by someone new, it becomes something completely different – something all of its own.” Dipper stated firmly. He got this look on his face whenever he was upset; brows knit, lips quirked slightly to the left. Bill was grateful there was no pens nearby.

Now that had been an amusing experience.

That was also the day that he decided Pine tree looked very good in blue.

“So, like your romance novels?” Bill asked non-chalantly, knowing the response would tickle the brunette’s nerves. And judging by the look Dipper shot him, he was right.

“No. Not like my romance novels. They’re not even mine, I told you my sister made me read them.” He grumbled, and Bill just smiled and nodded. “And I wouldn’t call any of them ‘unique’.”

Bill noticed he had dark hair. That dark brown hair, the kind that was almost black but not quite. It was flecked through with strands of auburn, colored lighter at the roots with the memory of sunlight. A colorless hue that seemed to fade into the air like smoke. And those eyes too. He liked the shade, sure, but their expression was what really caught his attention. When Pine tree’d get like this – all passionate and opinionated – he would scrunch his brows together and set his jaw and gaze at Bill as if they were arguing.

Most of the time Bill couldn’t even get a word in edgewise, not that he minded. He just liked listening to what Dipper had to say – and, getting him all flustered of course. The kid tried to hide it, but he wore his heart on his sleeve. It hadn’t taken long for Bill to learn exactly which buttons to push to get the brunette red eared and vexed in ten syllables or less.

Then, at around six o’clock, Dipper would stuff his book in his bag and grab his raincoat and nod to Bill before heading out into damp and murky summer heat. Bill would watch him until the door closed, then lean back in his seat and look forward to the next Wednesday when he’d get to see his Pine tree again.

It was somewhere around this time when Bill noticed that when he thought of Dipper, he no longer recalled his legs, or his body, or the way her ass would sway as he walked through that door.

Instead he had become wisps of loose hair tucked gently behind an ear, or closed lipped smiles where the brunette would crinkle up his nose as if he were about to sneeze. He had become lazy afternoons cast in golden light, the scent of coffee heavy in the air, the whole world sleepy and nodding off to the gentle tune of smooth jazz coming from some invisible speaker somewhere off in the general direction of the counter.

Somehow, Pine tree had become something else altogether – something that had the potential to be but wasn’t quite yet.

Dinner and a movie. Long walks in the park, before giving up and deciding to go get pizza instead. Maybe flowers. Maybe chocolate. Maybe a ring or two and a promise of forever and bells, and smiles that looked like we were going to sneeze, and long nights spent talking among other things. Maybe old age. Maybe a lifetime.

Or maybe, just maybe, nothing at all.

The potential of it hung in the air – a story that had been told a thousand times before. A story of their very own: of a wild haired boy with a smutty paperback book and the guy who checked him out. Different, but not unique. Yet, even so, Bill liked the idea of it anyway.

It was when he realized this that Bill also came to another realization: that maybe this was love. It was so sudden, so completely unexpected for the man who had never even considered the emotion before in his life time.

Because unlike Dipper Pines, Bill Cipher was no romantic. He liked fun, and he liked games, and he liked scantily clad woman more than he liked unforeseen adventures.

And yet there he teetered – at the brink of the abyss. If he went forward, he could lose everything he ever was.

But he could also become something greater than he’d ever thought possible.

He started taking another route home from work after that.

For one week. Then two.

Still, despite his decision, he couldn’t get thoughts of the brown eyed boy out of his head. His mind continuously wandered to half hidden smiles and the spread of scarlet through flustered cheeks. He thought of trashy novels and knights and damsels and grand tales of heroics and immortal love.

Then he thought of timid eyes cast over a pair of oversized glasses and the way his heart seemed to leap with every simple gesture the other man made. Such saccharine thoughts didn’t suite a man like Bill, not in the least, and yet he didn’t want to stop thinking, to stop longing, to stop wanting.

Theirs was a story whose ending had yet to be written. Not grand. Maybe not even worth telling. But all too suddenly Bill realized that none of that mattered.

Because regardless of how unique, regardless of how cliché or sentimental, it was theirs.

Bill’s very first love story, and he wasn’t about to throw it all away now.

Then, that day, the day when their story nearly came to an end, it was raining. On that day the café was warm and bathed in golden light and muffled jazz music could be heard somewhere from just behind the counter.

Bill bought an Americano and sat at the table in the corner.

One hour. The rain stopped, the clouds cleared.

Two hours. Another cup of coffee, anxious glances at the door – whose bell cut through him with each call that didn’t bring the familiar face of Dipper Pines.

A part of Bill wondered if something had happened to him.

Our story suddenly changed, rewriting itself in Bill’s mind. Maybe Dipper was sick. Maybe he had some deadly illness. Maybe he had been in an accident. Maybe, if Bill found him, this wouldn’t be the end.

A part of him knew that this was.

“You said you like damsels in distress, right?” Dipper had asked once.

“Half naked damsels in distress. It’s the lack of relevant clothing that makes them especially worthy of attention.” Bill responded with a lascivious smile.

“Yes, got that.” Dipper rolled his eyes. “And I said I liked knights in shining armor.”

“Or knights with a shining lack of body hair.” Bill responded. “Which, unfortunately, I do not quite fall into that category.” He waggled his eyebrows and the brunette blanched.

“Really, does everything have to be about sex with you?” He stated with a frustrated sigh, the color returning to his cheeks tenfold.

“Not usually. But you refuse to bring it up, so I have to be perverted enough for the both of us.” Bill responded smugly, which made Dipper roll his eyes.

“For the both of us, huh. I guess that makes us a pair, you and I.” He begrudgingly pushed up his glasses, his words bearing a sarcastic edge.

“I guess so.” Bill admitted, before his lips broke into a manic grin, “But for the record, I’m not waxing my chest for you.”

And, around six o’clock, Bill stood and left the little café, standing outside for a moment as he watched the remaining water drip, glistening like gems as they caught the fading evening light – all pinks and blues and heady violets. He wondered if this was how his summer would end – alone in the calm and cool twilight outside at the place where he met and lost his first love.

It was an almost melancholic feeling, knowing his first story had been a sort of tragedy.

“Hey.” A voice said from behind him, and Bill turned, gaze settling on the timidly smiling face he had thought he’d never see again. Dipper reached up, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. There were those red ears, those chaotic brown curls, that cute bottom lip which never seemed to catch a break.

“Pine tree…” Bill breathed, and though he considered himself quite the smooth talker he felt as if all his words had left him. Words flickered through his mind, a new story appearing from the ripped pages of the last. A thousand empty sheets, a thousand possibilities…

“So, you want to get some coffee?” Dipper asked, hazel gaze moving upward to meet a pair of wide blue eyes. Bill grinned, slightly too wide, slightly too toothy, but unlike all his other miles, this one was completely honest.

“I have a better idea. How does pizza sound? I know this great place just down the street that sells it by the slice!” He held out his hand, and the boy glanced between it and the beaming blonde in front of him. Sucking in a quick breath, he pushed his glasses up his nose and took Bill’s hand in his own, twining their fingers together.

“Sounds perfect.” He responded, unable to contain his own excitement at what was sure to be the beginning of something wonderful.

Hand in hand, the two walked through the iridescent veil of raindrops and into the golden city street - the pages of what was to come unfolding before them with every step.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I originally wrote this after my 20th century british literature professor made a comment on how there is nothing new or unique in the modern literary cannon and that modern novels written with the goal of entertainment were all trash and I was like: WHAT! No! How dare you poke fun at my smutty, cheesy romances!  
> And then this happened.  
> So, cute little dip'n'dots with glasses anyone? Because Dipper+glasses=precious.


End file.
